


The Madness At Bay

by ElectraCute



Series: Stars & Daffodils [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, Madness, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraCute/pseuds/ElectraCute
Summary: Bellatrix wasn't always the notorious mad witch of the war. Or was she? An account of some early signs of Bella's psychosis and the way her family dealt with it.





	The Madness At Bay

**Author's Note:**

> More vividly depicted as such in the films, Bellatrix Lestrange was clearly suffering from some sort of mental illness, quite likely borderline personality disorder (in my non-expert opinion). This might have been fueled by her time in Azkaban, but it was definitely present before, given the brutal and sadistic nature of her crimes. I thought it would be interesting to explore how she got to that point, a process which certainly took some time and a lot of unfortunate circumstances. Here, I am only discussing some of the first signs of her condition, before it escaped control, just like the title suggests.

Bellatrix smirked as she extended her arm once again to admire the large diamond ring on her finger. Her N.E.W.T. textbooks lay open on her desk, but she decided to ignore them for the time being, in favour of some daydreaming. A mere week had passed since her betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange, and the fact that she still had an entire school year to get through before she could finally marry him was almost driving her insane. Rodolphus had insisted that they hold their engagement before she went off to Hogwarts for her seventh year, probably because he wanted to ensure her faithfulness in his absence. He was now a graduate, and he spent most of his time these days training in the Dark Arts, hoping to join Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Bellatrix found this incredibly exciting, and couldn’t wait to be allowed the same honour herself; she hadn’t yet found her calling in any of the classes offered at Hogwarts, and there was only one career that she could see herself following; practitioner of the Dark Arts and, hopefully, cleanser of the wizarding race.

 

Rodolphus had promised her that the Dark Lord - which was how he referred to him, with great reverence - would be attending their wedding the following summer. Despite the fact that he was a close friend of the Lestranges, having been classmates with Rodolphus’s father during his school years, Lord Voldemort hadn’t graced their engagement party with his presence.  _ But thank Merlin for that _ , Bellatrix thought to herself, considering her father’s drunken behaviour and the embarrassment that he always was in social events; they usually tried to keep him from attending pureblood gatherings, an arrangement to which he hardly ever objected. This time, however, Cygnus Black was forced to be there with the rest of his family, since he couldn’t possibly abstain from his eldest daughter’s engagement. Quite unfortunately, truth be told, because he once again made a fool of himself before the Lestranges, fueling the gossip about the imminent downfall of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

 

Bellatrix pitied him. She didn’t hate him, she didn’t love him. She simply pitied her pathetic excuse of a father, who was so dependent on his expensive firewhisky. Her mother, on the other hand, was a rather respectable woman. Yes, Bellatrix did love her, although this love bordered on the dutiful devotion one normally feels towards family. She didn’t love Mother the way she loved Aunt Walburga. Because Mother didn’t understand her the way Aunt Walburga did. Mother didn’t give her books on her ancestry and pureblood heritage and on the atrocities and horrors caused by Muggles, nor did she teach her Dark spells and hexes, letting her practise on the garden gnomes, nor did she always remark what a talented young witch Bella was and present her with ancient family heirlooms that hummed with Dark magic - rings and necklaces and bracelets that Bellatrix wore proudly in high society gatherings and tea parties. Aunt Walburga wasn’t simply a perfect pureblood bride, like her mother; a trophy wife who spent all day sitting with her legs together and her back straight, bossing around house-elves and hosting luxurious dinners. Aunt Walburga was a powerful witch, Dark magic running through her veins along with the purest of wizarding blood. Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a house in which every room held its own spectres and shadows and creatures of the Dark, recognized her as the Mistress of the Manor and obeyed her faithfully.

 

So did the other members of the family, of course, but Bellatrix suspected that it was more out of fear rather than respect. The girl was proud to be her aunt’s favourite; she had never deprived her of her affection, not even when she had children of her own. In fact, she didn’t seem particularly taken with her sons, especially her eldest, Sirius. He was a lot of trouble during his early years, his magical mishaps wreaking havoc all over the place, along with his crude jokes and mischiefs.  _ How could anyone be fond of that little scamp? _ thought Bellatrix, recalling that time when he stole his father’s wand and charmed Narcissa’s hair into a shade of bright pink, or when he secretly took in a niffler and kept it under his bed, where the little creature stacked up all the shiny objects the family owned.

 

Young Regulus, on the other hand, was a charming boy, although not nearly as fascinated by Aunt Walburga’s teachings as Bellatrix had been when she was his age. He reminded her a lot of Narcissa, and it was true that the two of them got along quite well. More often than not, they could be found sitting together by the fire, the little boy curled up in Narcissa’s lap as she read to him from some heavy old book - one of those novels that she liked, no doubt, and certainly not a book about the Dark Arts, which would have been Bellatrix’s choice.

 

Narcissa took after their mother a lot, and not simply as far as looks go; she was the typical example of the young aristocratic girl who was merely someone’s daughter, and then she would become someone’s wife, and then someone’s mother, and then nothing. Little Cissy was perfect; her clothes always immaculate, her hair always neat and sleek, her skin always tidy, her voice always soft, her Druella-like smile always neutrally pleasant. Nothing like Bellatrix, who would often ruin expensive robes while experimenting with incendiary curses, whose untamed black curls had a mind of their own, who lost her temper at the slightest provocation and made a point out of punishing whoever upset her, who never just  _ smiled pleasantly _ like her mother - she grinned and scowled and cried and yelled and cackled and shrieked, strongly reminiscent of Aunt Walburga.

 

Nevertheless, Bellatrix had a weakness for her little sister. It seemed to her that Cissy was one of life’s followers; too weak to stand up for herself, always in need of someone to protect her. And thus, she always looked out for her ever since her youngest sister was in her first year at Hogwarts. This very summer, when she began seeing Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix took the boy aside and threatened him with the most heinous torments he could possibly dream of, if he even thought about breaking her sister’s heart. The ever-nonchalant Lucius had been rather terrified, very well aware of how the eldest Black sister never made any empty threats, and promised her that he would never do anything to hurt Narcissa. Bellatrix sniggered, remembering the absolute horror in his pale blue eyes as she shoved him against the wall and prodded his neck with her wand.

 

Immersed in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the house elf entering with her afternoon tea. She didn’t see it approaching her, and she jumped in her seat when she heard its squeaky voice calling “Miss Bella?” next to her. Startled, the elf lost control of the tray and let it slip from its hands. Hot tea trickled down her robes, burning her.

 

Horrific swear words flew from her mouth and her hand reached for her wand. Everything became a blur for a few moments, and next thing she knew, she was curled up beside her bed, trembling, her wand firmly clutched in her hand. There was a silver tray on the floor, a broken tea cup and some scones scattered around, as well as a small, motionless bundle near her desk.

 

Andromeda heard the noises coming from her sister’s bedroom across the corridor and decided to investigate. “Bella?” she called as she walked towards her sister’s room. “Are you alright?” She pushed the door - strangely, it wasn’t locked as usual. She proceeded with caution, as if walking into a haunted house; it was eerily quiet. Bewildered, she took in the bizarre sight.

 

“What happened?”

 

Bellatrix turned her face, and for a moment Andromeda didn’t recognize her. Her eyes were unnaturally wide open, something flashing underneath the soft grey of her irises. She was viciously biting on her lower lip, drawing blood.

 

“Bella? Are you alright?”

 

Her sister shot her a wild, almost feral glare, and then averted her eyes toward the bundle next to her desk, her tremor now becoming more intense.

 

Slowly, Andromeda walked over to it. What was it? Why was Bellatrix so upset over it? For a moment, it seemed like… No, it couldn’t be.

 

But as she moved closer, there was no doubt about it. Toppled next to her sister’s desk there was Beaky, the second house elf they had purchased after Kreacher had proved to simply not suffice for a house with four adult wizards and five magical children.

 

“Why is Beaky on the floor, Bella? Why are  _ you _ on the floor?”

 

Bellatrix suddenly tilted her head forward and held it in her hands, a pained expression on her face, as if there was something inside her head that was physically hurting her.

 

“Alright, you stay here,” said Andromeda in a frightened whisper, “and I’ll go get Mother.”

 

She ran down the stairs and into the parlour, where her mother and her youngest sister usually spent their time. Narcissa was sitting at the table with some ink and parchment, gently brushing the feather of the quill against her lips as she was trying to come up with just the right words for her letter. It was easy to guess from the dreamy look in her eyes to whom the letter was addressed.

 

A few meters away from her sister, Andromeda found her mother, lounging on an armchair with a book, a cooling spell cast around her to relieve her from the heat. Her golden locks, identical to her youngest daughter’s, usually put up in formal hairstyles, were now carelessly knitted into a messy braid. She almost looked like a schoolgirl, Andromeda thought. So unfitting for a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Of course, Druella didn’t generally lack any of that regal poise, or those haughty good looks only good breeding could accomplish. But, unlike the other adults in the house, she wasn’t a Black by birth, and also unlike them, there was a hint of kindness in her eyes, and a slight disregard for propriety during intimate family moments. She often affectionately called her husband “Cyg” and he called her “Dru”, something the older Black couple, Orion and Walburga, would consider unfathomable - then again, how could one pull an affectionate nickname out of a name such as Walburga? Andromeda and Narcissa had cheerfully discussed it one day, laughing as they dismissed “Wally” as reminiscent of a house-elf, and “Burg” as suitable for a troll. Thankfully, they hadn’t been caught by the only two people in the house who were actually fond of Aunt Walburga; Bellatrix, and Aunt Walburga herself.

 

“Mother?”

 

The blond witch, who was engrossed in her book, took a moment to react. “Yes, darling?”

 

“There’s something wrong with Bellatrix. You need to come.”

 

Druella Black rose from the armchair, throwing her book aside. “What happened? Is she hurt?”

 

“I don’t know, just… you need to come see her.”

 

“Cissy? Leave that thing now love, something happened to your sister. Come on.”

 

Narcissa followed her mother and Andromeda upstairs, into Bellatrix’s bedroom. They found her in the exact same state, still trembling, her eyes wide and staring into the void, her lip bitten open and bleeding.

 

“Bella?” Her mother’s voice cracked as he kneeled beside her, taking her daughter’s face in her hands. “What’s wrong, darling? What happened?”

 

“It’s the elf,” said Andromeda. “Something to do with the elf.”

 

Druella and Narcissa turned to look at where Andromeda was pointing.

 

“Oh Morgana… Is that Beaky?”

 

Andromeda nodded.

 

“Cissy, go check if the elf is… alright,” said Druella reluctantly. Her youngest daughter approached the elf with the same reluctance, and checked for a pulse.

 

“It’s… it’s dead, mother.”

 

Druella gasped. She then turned to Bellatrix again.

 

“Bella… Did  _ you _ do this?”

 

The girl looked up with fear in her eyes, now more reminiscent of a wounded animal. She nodded.

 

“Why?”

 

Bellatrix took in a deep breath.

 

“Beaky b-brought me tea… But he… he spilled it all over me. It was hot, I was b-burnt and I was… Mother, I was so angry at him!  _ So angry! _ ” Her eyes glinted at that. “And then… I don’t know what happened. He was just… just lying there!”

 

She began to sob, and Druella took her in her arms.

 

“Shh… It’s alright, don’t cry, love. We’ll get a new elf. It’s fine, it’s fine. Come on now, stand up. That’s right,” she said as she helped her daughter to her feet, “now you get into bed and I’ll take this thing out,” she glanced at the elf’s body, “and then I’ll bring you something to calm your nerves. Alright, Bella?”

 

Bellatrix sat on the bed, still trembling, obviously very upset. Her heavy-lidded eyes were wordlessly begging Druella not to go.

 

“I’ll be right back, darling. Girls, help your sister get into bed, and wait here for me.”

 

Druella levitated the elf corpse outside of the room and vanished it. She then ran to her sister-in-law who was in the kitchen, inspecting Kreacher’s cooking.

 

“Walburga, do you still have that Draught of Peace?”

 

The older witch looked at the disheveled, panicking Druella in slight contempt. She had never particularly liked her brother’s wife.

 

“Maybe. What happened? You’re a mess.”

 

“It’s for Bellatrix.”

 

At the mention of that name, Walburga’s expression shifted.

 

“Oh no! What’s wrong with Bella? Is she alright?”

 

“She’s fine, she just… suffered a shock. Do you have that Draught?”

 

“I’ll go look for it, you go back to Bellatrix! I’ll bring it to her room.”

 

Druella ran back to her daughter’s bedroom, and Walburga turned up a few moments later, holding a small vial.

 

“I’m afraid this is all that’s left of it, Druella, but I’m going to send Beaky to buy some more.”

 

“Walburga…”

 

She whispered something into her ear. Walburga looked very surprised, but she nodded in understanding. She then sat next to Bellatrix on the bed and lovingly fondled the girl’s hair.

 

“Bella, darling… Don’t worry about that  _ stinky _ elf. We’re going to get a brand new elf, one that doesn’t spill tea all over its mistress… Alright, my sweet? Here, I brought you something to calm you down. Open up now,” she said as she removed the seal from the vial and poured its contents into her niece’s mouth, “there you go. Now lie back and relax, alright my darling? And forget about what happened. It’s utterly unimportant.”

 

Bellatrix nodded and leaned back, resting her head on the pillow. Walburga gently brushed a few curls off her niece’s face. “Besides,” she continued, “you managed to cast a perfect Killing Curse at the age of seventeen! I’m very proud of you.”

 

“What are you talking about?!” came an outraged voice from behind her.

 

Walburga turned around. “Is there something you wish to say, Andromeda?”

 

“Don’t you get it? She didn’t mean to do it! It was her mindless reaction to wipe out the elf over some spilled tea! What if whoever upsets her next isn’t a house elf?”

 

“Andy, that’s enough,” whispered her mother next to her.

 

Her aunt’s face twisted in disgust. “How  _ dare _ you speak to me in that tone of voice, young lady? Discipline your brat, Druella.”

 

“Why don’t we all just leave and let Bellatrix rest?” intervened Narcissa, trying to ease the tension, but she was ignored.

 

“You have no right to criticize my parenting!” protested Druella. “ _ You _ are the one who’s pushed my daughter’s powers outside of her control! This is all your fault!”

 

“Bellatrix has nothing to be ashamed of! She should be proud!”

 

“Leave me alone. Please.” Bellatrix was looking at them impatiently. “Go fight somewhere else. I can’t handle this right now.”

 

“Let’s go,” repeated Narcissa. The two women exchanged grudging looks and finally agreed to leave the room.

 

Druella didn’t want to accept that the streak of madness running in the Black family had resurfaced in her daughter. She had always attributed Bellatrix’s fierce nature to her closeness with Walburga. She ignored any violent outbursts as isolated incidents, and failed to spot a pattern until the episode with the elf. However, the undeniable truth was now catching up with her - what they had to do was conceal it, especially given the engagement, and prevent it from manifesting itself again.

 

That year, apart from her usual belongings, Bellatrix’s trunk contained a massive supply of sedative potions. Her sisters were charged with making sure she took them regularly, especially if she seemed particularly agitated. Their mother also instructed them to keep an eye on her at all times, lest her secret be revealed.

 

“Be careful, my love,” she whispered in her eldest daughter’s ear as she kissed her goodbye at platform nine and three-quarters. Bellatrix nodded, and the other two girls exchanged a meaningful look with their mother. A moment later they were gone, and Druella followed her sister-in-law and her youngest nephew to the platform barrier, casting a final worried look at the departing train over her shoulder, and then crossing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Except from being a part of my Black sisters series, this story is also a side piece to my multi-chapter fic “Those Cunning Folk Use Any Means”. That fic provides an account of several things, including what followed this particular oneshot during Bella’s last year at Hogwarts, through the eyes of a young Severus Snape. Definitely check it out if you’re curious. Thanks for reading and don’t forget to leave me a review!


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